Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous
by Kairyuu-san
Summary: Socs still have problems—that is, all except for David. His life is perfect: big house, his own car, and parents that don’t argue. The only bad thing's his attitude. He didn’t know how hard greasers had it—until now. [DISCONTINUED]
1. Crossing the Tracks

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Outsiders. At all. Okay? There, I said it.

**Rating: **PG-13 (Of course, it's PG-13. I mean, Dally's in it. XD -gets bricked- Xx;)

**Author Notes:** I know that it's not gonna be really good, but . . . yeah. And sorry if I keep on switching POVs. And sorry if David is truly annoying. He really gets on my nerves, so feel free to brick him. --;

**Summary:** Socs still have problems—that is, all except for David. His life is perfect: big house, his own car, and parents that don't argue. The only rotten thing in his life is his attitude that's as big as he is rich. He didn't know how hard greasers had it—until now.

Inspired by "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" by Good Charlotte

**Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous**

_Always see it on T.V.or read it in the magazines;  
Celebrities want sympathy.  
All they do is piss and moan inside the Rolling Stone,  
Talkin' 'bout how hard life can be. _

I'd like to see them spend the week livin' life out on the street;  
I don't think they would survive.  
If they could spend a day or two walking in someone else's shoes,  
I think they'd stumble and they'd fall.  
They would fall.

Lifestyles of the rich and the famous;  
They're always complaining, always complaining.  
If money is such a problem,  
Well, they've got mansions,  
Think we should rob them . . .

"Do I HAVE TO?!"

"You have school tomorrow, honey!"

"Yeah, yeah . . . I'll get to it."

David sat lazily on his couch, flipping casually through channels on his television. There was absolutely nothing on at the moment, which was boring him to death. The only thing there was to do was study . . . but screw that!

He pushed his books off the table in front of him with his foot, rolling his eyes as his mother, who asked him what that sound was. "Nothing, mom!" he yelled back, running a hand through his rather short blond hair.

"Are you done with your homework?" came another call from his mom from upstairs.

Emerald green optics darted down to his textbooks on the floor. "Yeah, I am!" the 16 year old replied, rolling his eyes yet again. "Man, this is so boring! It's Saturday tomorrow, anyway," he growled, getting up from his seat. "Mom, I'll be back!"

"Where are you going?"

"To the library!" he lied, before slamming the door loudly behind him.((Author Note: Wow. Arrogance to the max. ))

* * *

**David's POV**

After cruisin' for a while, I decided to go crash at my friend's house. His house ain't as big as mine, but it's good enough. I mean, that guy's got one hell of a sister. Think she likes me, too. Can't blame her, but the only bad thing is that she's almost never at home.(( Author Note: So much for modesty . . . ))

Anyway, as I get to his house, I let the tires scream for a while before coming to a complete stop at his driveway, leaving a few marks. Oh, well. Ain't my driveway. But then, I see him get tossed out of his house and thrown onto the front lawn. I cocked a brow, jumping out of the car. "Hey, man, you alright?"

"Y-yeah . . ."

I rolled my eyes. Typical. That's my friend, Chris. He can't really fend for himself, and his parents fight a lot. And I mean A LOT. Sometimes, I swear, I can hear those two all the way from my house. As Chris stood up, he brushed himself off, blue eyes full of worry, like he was gonna cry or somethin'. Chris is shorter than me and has blond hair that goes down below his ears. I keep on beggin' him to do somethin' about it, 'cause he looks an awful lot like a grease. And by the way, I HATE greasers. They're so damned annoying with their stupid collars flipped up, tryin' to act cool. Plus, they're poor.

"Let's dump this joint," I declared, jumping into my car, which currently had its top down. Chris timidly walked to the other side of my car, opened the door, and stepped in. I rolled my eyes at him. "Man, Chris, sometimes you make me wonder."

"Wonder about what?" he asked, glancing over at me.

"Nevermind," I sighed. That guy will never learn. I can't really remember why I let him hang out with me. "We're gonna pick up the rest of the guys, okay?"

"Okay . . ."

And for the rest of the ride, Chris was silent. And I mean goddamned dead silent. It kind of creeped me out, mostly because he was sittin' next to me and all the noise was in the back of the car where the rest of my friends were.

"Hey, David!" one called, grinning at me, "let's cross the tracks!"

A roar of approval came from behind me, but Chris said nothing. "Cross the tracks" meant to check out the East Side. There were always one or two stupid greasers that would dare to walk by themselves. And then, they would cry to their friends about getting beat up. Chris didn't like it, for some weird reason. I didn't really care, but since my other friends wanted to go, we did. That's a part of the trick to being popular. You see, I'm a real popular guy at school, thanks to my football-playing friends.

I glanced around, looking at all the crappy and broken-down houses. "I'm glad I don't live here," I muttered.

"They have it pretty rough, don't they?" asked Chris, who finally said something. Gladly, the others didn't hear, 'cause they were all talkin' 'bout cheerleaders or something. I don't know.

"Well, I mean, we have it rough, too! Greasers are such drama queens! 'Lookit me, I have such a hard life!'" I grinned over at Chris, but I couldn't tell if he was grinning back or not, since he was looking away from me. I shrugged it off and continued. "Our parents aren't exactly perfect, Chris! A lot of the guys at school's parents beat 'em up sometimes!" 'Sometimes' was the key word there, but I didn't want to say that to Chris.

"Except for yours . . ."

"What?" I shot a look at him, but he didn't do anything. "What'd you say . . .?"

"David, you don't know what it's like."

"Oh, please! Of course I do! I mean, my parents suspend me from doin' all sorts of things! And they're damn annoying!"

"Yeah, but . . ."

"But what? You stickin' up for, 'em, Chris?" I looked angrily at my friend before looking back at the road. "Look, man," I said in a quieter voice, "you can't stick up for greasers like that . . . not in front of the guys." I gestured back at the group.

"Right . . . popularity's everything," Chris said.

"Right," I confirmed, grinning. I didn't know at that moment that he was being sarcastic, but he was.

And I was stupid enough not to know that.

--  
**Author Notes: **Eh. I know that was stupid. xX; Anyway, I'm still gonna write, 'cause it's my only form of amusement at the moment. XD And sorry about David, if you don't like him. (I don't really like him, either.) But for some reason, he reminds me of Dally . . . except a whole lot worse.

Anyway, review and tell me what you think about it!


	2. Jumping Followed by Questions

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Outsiders. And that sucks. I only own the idea.

**Rating: **PG-13 (for both Dally _and_ David's mouths . . .)

**Author Notes: **Urg . . . 's under maintenance or something, huh? That's why I'm gonna go ahead and type up this next chapter anyway. XD –cough- And if you're actually reading this story . . .

-gets down on knees- Thank you so very much for actually reading! I don't really have any confidence in this story at this moment!!!!! –cough- Er . . . yes, thank you . . . a lot. So, if you're actually reading, enjoy the next chapter!

**Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous**

_Did you know when you were famous,  
You could kill your wife, and there's no such thing as  
25 to life, as long as you've got the cash to pay for Cochran.  
And did you know if you were caught and you were smoking crack,  
McDonald's wouldn't even want to take you back,  
You could always just run for mayor of D.C. _

I'd like to see them spend the week livin' life out on the street,  
I don't think they would survive.  
If they could spend a day or two walking in someone else's shoes,  
I think they'd stumble and they'd fall.  
They would fall.

Lifestyles of the rich and the famous,  
They're always complaining, always complaining.  
If money is such a problem,  
Well, they got mansions,  
Think we should rob them . . .

"Hey, guys, check it out . . ." I heard one of my friends in the back say.

"What?"

"Look. Greaser," he said, grinning. I looked ahead, and yeah, there was a greaser. Looked around 14 or something, and he was walkin' pretty fast, tryin' to keep his cool or somethin'. I smirked, bringing my red Corvair a bit closer to the kid. He had a pretty good build, but we had a car full of guys.

We jumped out, and managed to corner him. He managed to keep his cool, though. Chris was still in the car, looking down at the floor. He always did that; came with us, but didn't come down. To get my mind off of it, I pulled out my switchblade. "Hey," I began, and my friends' eyes lit up, "need a haircut, greaser?" My friends snickered.

The guy was silent for a while, before saying, "No."

'Wise-ass,' I thought, and he backed up into one of my friends, who grabbed him and pinned him down in a second. He fought, and let me tell you, we almost let go of him for a moment. It took all of our effort to get him back down again. I then slugged him hard across the face again and again. Between breaths, I could hear the guy tryin' to cuss us out.

"Let him have it!" one of the guys had said, and I held my blade against his throat.

"How'd you like that haircut just below the chin?" I asked, grinning. After that was a blur. Next thing I knew it, there were some other greasers coming, and they had as much fight as this guy. So, we all jumped into the car and drove off. I'd been slugged right across the face, and my lip was bleeding a bit.

"Damn . . ." I heard someone whisper breathlessly. "That was some fight, huh?"

The others agreed, and still Chris remained silent.

* * *

It was a long drive home, you'd better believe me. It was a lot quieter this time, too, which annoyed me like hell. I wanted someone to talk or something, but no one broke the silence. One by one, I dropped off the guys until it was only Chris and I. 

"Why do we jump greasers, anyway?" Chris asked.

"Huh?" I looked over at him, confused. "Well, we . . ." my voice trailed off and I looked back at the road. I didn't know why we jumped greasers. "For fun?" I suggested, but now I regret ever saying that.

Chris shrugged. "Okay, then . . ." After what seemed to be a million years, I dropped him off at his house.

"Later, man."

"Yeah . . ." Chris glanced over at his house, and when he opened the door, he was hit by a flying picture frame. "Later," he called over his shoulder at me, and then cautiously stepped into the house.

"See?" I told myself, "We have it rough, too . . ." But for some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about what Chris had said. It was so damn annoying and driving me crazy. Finally, I brought my car into the driveway, which had no black car marks on it.

"Hey, honey, that was long," my mom came up to me and hugged me, planting a super-huge kiss on my cheek. I rolled my eyes. "Did you find anything?"

"What?"

"At the library?"

"Er . . . no, I didn't."

"Oh. Well, your dinner's on the table!" She smiled at me, ruffled my hair (which was so annoying), and then walked back upstairs. "Your dad says he'll be home late today, by the way!"

"Okay," I replied, not caring. I don't care about my dad. I don't care about school.

I finished dinner in a hurry before plopping back onto the couch, where there were actually some good shows playing. But Chris' words rang in my head like the school bell, which seemed to never stop ringing. I actually fell asleep thinking about that word. The word I can't even let myself say now:

"Soc".

--  
**Author Notes: **Okay, I know it's not good, but that's chapter two. And it's short. Sorry about that. Xx; And yes, David's mom really is blond. And yes, he did jump Ponyboy. Oo; Baaad David! -whacks- Don't worry, I'll actually get the storyline going in the next chapter. So . . . yeah. Please review, and thanks!


	3. What The Hell?

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Outsiders, Good Charlotte, or this song. I DO own the idea of this story and Chris. I'm not really sure if I own David, 'cause he's the guy in the original book to jumped Ponyboy, so . . . yeah. –sweatdrop-

**Rating: **PG-13 (You should know why by now!)

**Author Notes: **I'm glad that people ACTUALLY reviewed this story! Arigatou gozaimesu! Even though I'm not even sure what's gonna happen, people are still reading it. I want at least 10 reviews . . . please? I BEG OF YOU! Xx; And sorry that I haven't been updating. I've been so effing busy with so many things. xX;

**Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous**

_Lifestyles of the rich and the famous,  
They're always complaining, always complaining.  
If money is such a problem,  
You got so many problems.  
Think I could solve them.  
Lifestyles of the rich and famous,  
We'll take your clothes, cash cards, and homes just stop complaining!  
Lifestyles of the rich and famous,  
Lifestyles of the rich and famous,  
Lifestyles of the rich and famous . . ._

"Get outta my face, greaser."

I couldn't believe what was happening to me. Greaser? What? I ain't one of them!

"Move it along, greaser!" I heard one of them sneer. I looked into their eyes, and couldn't see emotion. Just raw ice.

"I—"

"I don't care what you think."

I felt my face being pressed against a cold, hard floor. I knew these voices. I knew these guys. Why, then? Why were they treating me like this? I was no greaser . . . right? I was better than them . . . better than them . . .

I felt something shake me violently. My world was crashing. Was I dying . . .?

* * *

"HEY!" 

I felt a hand whack me straight across the face, and my eyes ripped open. I was in my living room. On the couch. Everything was the same as always . . . or was it?

_BAM!_

Once again, I felt a fist against my cheek. I gritted my teeth, glancing at who'd hit me. I couldn't believe it. It was Dad. I opened my mouth to say something, but I was slugged across the face _again_. I could hear my mom crying for him to stop, but I just sat there, glaring.

"Get out of my house," he growled, fist clenched. I said nothing, eyes narrowing. I didn't get it . . .

'I h ate you,' I thought. 'I fucking hate you.'

"W-why?" I heard mom ask, sobbing.

"Suck it up, woman!" Dad barked, and Mom shut up immediately. "Look here," he said a bit more quietly, "It'll be better around here without him. I thought you realized he was a mistake in the first place?"

I couldn't believe this. "Wha—"

"Shut up!" I shut up. "Out stocks are going down, and you do nothing but complain. We never wanted you in the first place, anyway." Is he mad! Just for money and for his own damn convenience, he's fucking throwing me out! Why would he do this! Why!

I looked over at my mom, that blond who was too scared to say anything. She stood there, hands over her mouth and green eyes full of stupid tears. 'Crying won't do anything! Help me already!' I thought, making a fist.

I swear, my knuckles were white and I thought I was gonna scream . . . or better yet, fight back. But I didn't. That filthy bastard father'd rather be a . . . a . . . damn Soc than have me! I'm their son, for Pete's sake! I'm their son . . .

"I hate you!" I yelled finally, putting my fist into action. But, I never felt it smash against his sorry face. But, instead, I felt a sharp pain like fire against the side of my head. My mom screamed, and I heard glass fall onto our hard, white floor—except it was stained now with blood—my blood. I was stunned and dizzy, looking over at my father with a stupid, confused look on my face.

He was emotionless, holding in his hand what turned out to be a thin part of a beer bottle. I put my hand to t he side of my head, feeling something sticky.

Then, he threw me out. That sick bastard threw me out. My mom had followed after me, patching my cut up as much as possible before I heard my Dad yell. I didn't know what he said—I was too freaking dizzy to know. I heard my mom cry, then I felt her hand leave me shoulder.

And I was so damn I alone. More alone than I'd ever been. I walked, looking at the houses. They were all a blur. I didn't know how long I walked or how much I bled, but I felt a round piece of metal, turned it, and saw light.

Light. Thank God! I didn't know what happened after that, but I could remember yelling . . .

And some idiot who kept yelling, "Soc".

* * *

**Author Notes:**Okay, it's pretty short and to me, really stupid. --; Sorry about this. Xx; I hope to make it come all together in the next chapter. Promise. Just bear with me, okay? Remember, 10 reviews! XD 


	4. Wrong Side of the Tracks

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Outsiders, Good Charlotte, or their song. There. Don't sue me! But I do own David and Chris. -prods- X3

**Rating: **PG-13 (for language)

**Author Notes: **Thank you so much to those wonderful people who've been reviewing and reading my story! I luff you guys-clings- Anyway, I hope this part isn't so confusing. And if you were confused, I'm sorry. I'll try to bring it together in this chapter.

**Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous**

_Poke. Poke. Poke._

'God, leave me alone . . .' I was lying there, wherever I was, for about 15 minutes, with someone poking me. I was too weak to even tell the idiot to stop, so I just had to endure it. After like, 100 pokes or so, I lifted my hand and whacked whatever was there.

I heard a roar of laughter.

"Damn it, Two-Bit!"

"Sorry, Dal, I didn't know that he'd hit you instead of me!"

Then, there was more laughter. I tried not to grin. Who were these guys? I've never heard their voices before. But whoever got hit by me had a tough voice, so I decided to just stop. I mean, I know I'm strong and all, but I'm not stupid enough to continue. I don't wanna get beat up or nothin'.

"Hey, are you awake, man?" I was poked again.

God, that was the final straw! "Leave me alone!" I roared, sitting up. That moment, I was met with pain that felt like a knife splitting through my head. I plopped back down, but my eyes were open now. I wasn't on the West Side anymore.

One guy grinned slyly. "Hey, Two-Bit, you made Mr. Soc mad," he chuckled. "What's your name, blondie?" he asked me. I recognized his voice now. Shit. That was Dallas Winston. I've heard about him before. One of the toughest hoods of the East Side.

"Why d'you wanna know?" I asked coldly, trying to look tough. Dallas just scoffed.

"No respect," the other guy sighed, shaking his head. I figured his name was "Two-Bit". Why the hell hadn't they knocked the living crap out of me? Then, the weirdest thing in my life happened.

That kid. That kid I jumped yesterday walked into the room. I drew in a sharp breath. Shit. Did they want to make sure I was awake before they beat me up? He stopped right in front of me, taking a good look.

"I guess what goes around comes around," he concluded, and then looked away. Dallas looked over at him.

"What the hell, Ponyboy? You're just gonna let him off the fucking hook?" he looked towards me, glaring. And God, it was scary. "Well, I ain't!" he declared, grabbing me by the collar of my shirt. "Listen, buddy," he began, in a low voice, "We're just keepin' you alive 'cause Darry says so."

"W-what?"

"My brother."

Wait, so who're these people? The guy I beat up was named "Ponyboy", I figured. What a weird name. Ponyboy looked away from me, taking a seat in a nearby couch. He was looking at the ground. Shit. He had a band aid where my blade had cut him yesterday. Shit. Why? Why'd I do it? I felt so damn sorry.

"Let me make this guy sorry for you," Dallas offered, raising his fist.

"Dal, don't!" Ponyboy blurted out.

"Why not?"

"Well . . ." Ponyboy's voice trailed off. He shook his head. "Just don't! Please . . ." he sunk back into the couch, hoping not to get pounded by Dallas instead.

Dallas scoffed, gritted his teeth, and threw me back down against the soda. "Damn it, Ponyboy . . ." He got up from where he was and quickly stormed out of the house.

Ponyboy sighed, hanging his head. "Aw, c'mon, Pony, y'know Dal just offered to 'cause this is the guy who beat you up yesterday!" Two-Bit said. I winced. I was the one who did this . . .

NO! I can't start thinking like that. I'm better than these guys! But then, Chris' words started flooding into my head. 'Why do we do that stuff, anyway?' I could hear him asking me over and over and over . . .

"AHH!" I put my hands on my head. "Shit . . . this can't be happening . . ."

Two-Bit and Ponyboy looked at me strangely, but eventually, they stopped and left the house. I was all alone. I managed to sit up straight. "Now what?" I asked aloud. 'Maybe I can . . .' my thoughts were cut. I just remembered—I had no home. There was nowhere for me to go. I wasn't a Soc anymore. I had nothing. I was a greaser . . .

'This can't be happening,' I started breathing harder. "No . . . no . . . NO!" I put my hands on my head again.

"No to what?" Then, those three were there again, at the doorway. Except, there were two more guys with them.

"The news is all over town!" one of them said. I didn't know who he was yet, though.

"What news?" I asked, glaring at him.

"You were kicked out, weren't you?"

I stared at him like I didn't know what he was talking about. "No, of course not!" I said.

"Then why the hell are you here?" Dallas put in. Man, he scared me.

"It's a survival test," I declared. "My parents wanted to see how I well I could be on my own."

One of them snickered. "I guess you failed, then," he grinned.

"N-no, I didn't—"

"Yes, you did."

There was silence. I hate silence. "Look," I finally said, "Let me just lay low here for a while and then I'll be out. I don't wanna fail."

"Uh . . . sure."

Wow. These suckers actually bought it—all except for Dallas. He was glaring at me like I was spit out from hell. "I don't believe it." Heh. I was right.

"C'mon, Dal, what's it gonna hurt?"

"You sure Darry's gonna be okay with this, Soda?"

Soda. I think I remember the guy. And his friend. "You guys work at DX?"

"You guessed it!" Soda grinned.

"Wow, how did you know?" his friend asked sarcastically. "You totally can't see that we're wearing DX uniforms."

"Guess this is my home for now, huh?" I asked, putting my hands behind my head, making Dallas even madder. For me, the madder the better. I grinned.

"Fine, then. Do what you want," he spat, before exiting the house once again.

"Aw, ignore ol' Dal, he just don't trust your kind!" Two-Bit exclaimed. I raised an eyebrow at him. These people were odd. REALLY odd.

But even so, we had a lot more in common than I thought.

""  
**Author Notes: **Well, here's another chapter! Thank you again to those who're reading! And don't forget to review!


	5. The Damn Truth

**Disclaimer: **I DO own The Outsiders! Bwahaha . . . okay, I don't. I _wish_ I did, though. I only own David and Chris. Yeah . . . sad, isn't it?

**Rating: **PG-13

**Author Notes: **Thank you to everyone who have reviewed my story! I luff you guys. And thanks for the constructive criticism, because it's helping me a whole lot. X3

Anyway, here's the story.

**Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous**

I had no clue what day it was, but it didn't really matter. I didn't need to go to school. I would just be humiliated there. Plus, my head was still hurting like hell. I couldn't really see so well, but I could tell that this was a greaser's place.

I mean, the furniture wasn't all that great, and it felt like someone made a bed in it every damn week. But oh, well. It was comfortable. Some of their stuff was cracked, their TV was all dusty, and all of the rooms in their house were small. Man, this is was not the kind of life I wanted to live, but I had to.

I guessed that it was a school day, since Ponykid or whatever was at school and everyone else was at work. That left me alone at their house. My head was still throbbing, and thinking about what Chris said wasn't helping at all.

_"Just 'cause we're rich doesn't really mean that we deserve to, right? I mean, it ain't our fault that we're rich, and it ain't their fault that they're poor."_

Not our fault . . . Man! Why did he have to torture me like this? I didn't get it! How come he had to care so much? Why did he make _me_ care so much? "What d'you mean . . .?" he muttered to myself, running a hand through my hair.

"Mean about what?" Standing at the doorway was Dallas, glaring at me with those ice blue eyes. God, he scared me. I can't believe some of my friends actually fought against him before. I bet they were lying when they said that they won.

"Nothing," I growled, trying not to show how scared I was. But man, I was so fucking scared that it was hard for me to resist the urge to get up and run.

"Why're you here?" He asked me that a lot.

I bit down on my lower lip. "I already told you."

"That ain't the truth, and I know it! Now what the fuck is your damn problem?" he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, which was strangling me. "Tell me already!"

"Okay, okay . . ." I managed to gasp. "I . . . got kicked out! Now let go!" By then, my voice was only a whisper, and I looked like a puppy backed up against a wall with a gun pointed at its head.

Dallas gave me a weird look—a look that I didn't understand. He immediately backed off for some reason, too. He completely shut up for a while before saying, "Sorry, man, didn't know." Holy shit. He just apologized to me, even though he still had that look that scared me.

I just remembered—I was one of "their kind" now. I didn't know what their laws were, but I had a feeling that all greasers agreed to stick together. Us Socs aren't really like that. If one of our friends does something stupid or has revealed something about them that's stupid, we just dump 'em. We also lie a whole lot, and it's really hard to find a good friend. I guess I'm lucky that Chris is my buddy . . .

And I guess that this group here's okay, too. They kind of accepted me, even though Dallas still looked at me with that threatening look. It was like he was warning me that if I was lying to him and he found out, I'd be down in a second.

"So, you're a greaser now, huh?" The expression on his face changed from "Sorry" to a grin that was mocking me.

I didn't know what to say. "Well . . ."

"Don't have a place to stay, huh?" his grin grew wider. God, he scared me _and_ made me feel like shit!

"I guess," I muttered finally. It just hit me—nothing would be the same for me ever again. I couldn't go back to my old friends and my old ways. I had to start over again—starting with Chris.

I didn't know everything that my best friend had gone through until then. I never knew how strong that Chris was, and I know that he'll always be way stronger than me for the rest of my life.

""  
**Author Notes: **Okay, that chapter's really short, but I can't think of anything. Xx; Anyway, review and help me out here!


	6. Soc to Greaser

**Disclaimer: **Nope, still don't own it.

**Rating: **PG-13

**Author Notes: **Grr! I can't think of anything, so sorry if all of this sucks. I'm experiencing writer's block right now, and I'm trying desperately to get past it.

Anyway, here's the fic.

**Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous**

'Now what? Dallas already knows. This sucks. And . . . I'm a bit scared to go back home. I mean, seriously, is my dad really going to welcome me back with open arms? It's like he's given me up. But who'd do that . . .?' I thought pretty hard about it. Well, harder than I thought before, anyway. I decided that I'd have to do the one thing I only experienced in my nightmares:

Become a greaser.

"WHAT!" my jaw hung as I listened to what Soda was saying. "I have to . . .?"

"It's the only way to fit in," Darry told me. By then, I'd already memorized their names. I'm pretty good with memorizing things.

"Fit in?"

"It ain't like you're goin' back to that Soc house any time soon," Dally said smoothly, grinning at me. I could tell that he was enjoying this. He let our whole conversation slip and ended up telling everyone. I felt like a jerk.

I glared at him. "Well . . ."

"Well," Two-Bit cut in, "You should lose those stupid madras first." He said 'stupid' real calmly, like 'stupid' and 'madras' were supposed to go together. I tried not to look offended, even though I wanted to tear him limb from limb.

"What'm I s'posed to wear, then?" I asked, trying to make them feel as bad as they made me.

"Clothes—duh!" Two-Bit blurted out, and the others laughed. They were unaffected completely.

"And grow my hair?" This all seemed really stupid to me. I just wanted to go back home and hang out with the guys. Everything I felt yesterday seemed to have gone. I mean, I don't dwell on things. I'm a Soc, anyway. I can 'make a decision' one day and forget it completely the next. It was just the way I was.

"Yessir!" Two-Bit grinned crazily enough to make me grin back.

"You're crazy . . ."

"Yessir, he is!" Steve exclaimed.

"Hey!"

"He was just tellin' the truth!" Dallas told Two-Bit, who tackled Steve to the ground.

'Great,' I thought, 'The only sane people here other than me are Dallas, Ponyboy, and Darry.' And there was a problem with that, because Dallas and Darry scared me.

By that time, Darry had tossed me some clothes, which were probably Soda's. I sighed, and trudged toward the bathroom. This was the beginning of something new, and there was no forgetting it tomorrow.

* * *

The guys were looking at me, faces red. Two-Bit was biting on his lower lip and I could tell he was holding his breath. It looked like he was going to laugh or something, but he tried to turn it into a cough, which actually came out as a snort. 

"What?" I asked dully. "I look stupid."

"You do not!" Steve told me, trying to hold back laughter. "You look like one of us, so you can't look stupid!"

I glanced back into the mirror. Shit. I _did_ look like a greaser. 'Great. Just great.'

I was wearing a pretty worn-out white t-shirt, which was kind of faded and had an extremely light gray blotch on it. Over that, I wore a blue plaid shirt, and to top it all off, worn out and faded jeans. I went to looking rich to looking poor in at least 5 minutes tops.

"Wait!" Soda blurted out, "He's missing something!"

"What now?" I growled, trying to intimidate him. But it didn't work. My Soc-ness was completely lost.

"Hair grease!"

"No way!" I stepped away from them. I was not ready to look like a real greaser.

"You have to! All greasers wear hair grease!" Two-Bit was grinning like he was drunk. Actually, it was hard for me to tell if he was drunk or not.

"Dally doesn't!"

"Who cares? You need to!"

"Shit," I muttered under my breath. I was stuck. There was no way out. So, I let them grease my hair while I flinched about a thousand times. I kept saying, "Shit" over and over again, so I think that's why they put a whole lot.

"Damn you," I growled after they were done.

All they said was, "You're welcome!"

"Anyway," Soda began, "There's this party goin' on—greasers only."

"Are you sure we should bring him?" Steve asked. "I mean, he'll find out our secret plans . . ." I couldn't tell what he was talking about. But a party seemed good to me, plus, I could find out the 'secret plans'.

Two-Bit grinned at Steve. "Yeah, our secret plans that only us greasers know about!"

I saw Dallas roll his eyes. 'Are there really secret plans?' I thought.

This was how these guys turned me into a greaser in a day. They dragged me into a greaser party this way. And also, their secret plan turned out to be stupid—really stupid.

""  
**Author Notes: **I can't really think of what to write at the moment. x x; Sorry if you thought it was stupid. Well, they turned David into a greaser. O o; It's the end of the world. XD

Anyway, keep them reviews comin'!


	7. What's the Plan?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own it.

**Rating: **T

**Author Notes: **Okay, here goes another chapter. Gomen nasai. I keep on forgetting to put Johnny in there! I'm really sorry.

cough- On to the fic.

**Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous**

I looked around as the greasers were getting ready to go to the party. Actually, they weren't really getting ready. They were just . . . waiting, I guess. 'Cause it wasn't supposed to start yet. But anyway, Steve and Soda were arm wrestling, and Ponyboy was talking to this one guy . . . shoot, I actually forgot his name.

But I'll remember later. Anyway, I haven't seen that kid much; he just kept on avoiding me and everything. He hangs around a lot with Ponyboy and Dally and stuff . . . like I care. But he kind of reminds me of Chris.

"Are we going yet?" I asked, slouching in my seat on the couch.

"After . . ." Soda stopped, trying to hold his arm up, "I beat . . ." once again, he paused, gritting his teeth. " . . . Steve . . ."

"Like hell you will," Steve grinned, shoving all his force onto Soda's arm, pinning it down in that one moment. "Hah! Who wins again?" he asked, standing up.

"Hey, not fair!"

"What're you talkin' 'bout? I won you fair and square!"

"B-but you were just messin' with me!"

"I was letting you use up all your energy before pinnin' you down . . . and messin' with your head. It's called strategy, not cheating!"

"Aw, man!"

I looked at the clock, which hung above the television. It was almost time to go. I opened my mouth to say something, but instead, Two-Bit said it. "Are we goin' yet?" he asked, getting up. He was wearing his leather jacket, but there was something bulging out of its inside pocket. I cocked a brow.

"What the fuck's wrong with your jacket, man?" then, I paused for a moment. 'Holy shit. I sound like a fucking greaser now.'

Two-Bit looked down at his jacket and shrugged. "Dunno. Looks okay to me. It ain't ripped or anythin', is it?"

"He means the fucking big bump sticking out of it, stupid," Dally told him coolly.

"Oh . . . that's . . ." Two-Bit looked around, trying to think of what to say. I rolled my eyes. "It's . . ." his voice became above a whisper, "Darry's newspaper. I mean, he's hooked to newspapers, man, he always read 'em! He fetches 'em like a dog, too!"

I cocked a brow at him. "Okay . . ." and looked back up at the clock. "Now can we go?"

"I guess," Steve said, getting up from his seat. "I can beat Soda again tomorrow."

"Hey!"

"Let's go, Johnny," I heard Ponyboy say to the kid he was talking to. Johnny. Oh, yeah. That was his name. Anyway, some of us went to Two-Bit's car, while the others went in Dally's. I jumped into Two-Bit's, because Dally still gives me that look like he's gonna rip me from limb to limb. And I'm never in the mood to be ripped from limb to limb.

"This is your first ever greaser party, huh, Davy?" I twitched when Two-Bit called me that. When people call me that, it makes me feel like they either want something from me or my fly ain't zipped.

"No, I've been to millions," I said sarcastically.

"Oh, yeah? Then you know what we're gonna do?" Obviously, Two-Bit didn't pick up my sarcasm. What an idiot.

"I was being sarcastic."

Two-Bit just sat there for a moment, steering the car, not saying anything. Finally, he said, "Right . . ." and I rolled my eyes. If I could run a stupid carnival, Two-Bit'd be the main attraction. I was thinking of this when Two-Bit said, "Should we tell 'im?"

"Dunno," Steve replied. "I mean, he's like . . . a Soc."

"_Was _a Soc," Soda corrected him. That brought me back to the absolutely sick feeling of me remembering that I was a greaser now. Not just a greaser, a _homeless_ greaser. I rubbed my head, because it started to hurt. Why was this happening to me!

"Hey, man, you okay?"

I didn't reply to that. Instead, I just kept on rubbing my head, though after a while, it only made my headache worse.

"Davy?"

"Don't call me that," I hissed, and then everyone in the car became quiet. I wondered why they did for a second, but then it hit me. I sounded just like that 'evil' Soc they had known before.

"We're sorry, okay?" Soda put in. I knew all of them were about ready to jump me—3 against 1 if I went back to being my Soc-like self.

"S'okay," I muttered, looking out the window. I wondered if we were almost there, because that drive seemed to take forever. And it made me really nervous, because I could sense the raw tension in the air. For those minutes, it was back to a greaser-Soc fight between us. I was ready to fight them, and they were ready to fight me. They wouldn't hesitate to pull out blades on ol' 'Davy'.

But finally, we got there in complete silence. "So . . ." I began, annoyed by the quietness, "What's that thing in your pocket, Two-Bit?"

And just like that, they forgave and forgot. Greasers are like that. If they fight against each other in a rumble or something, they can go back to being friends right after. I thought it was weird, but now I'm thankful, because if they weren't like that, they probably would've killed me that night.

"We have a plan," Two-Bit grinned.

"Obviously," I muttered. "What's the plan?"

"Er, it's not really a plan, but we're gonna do something that's gonna get a hell load of people mad at us tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah?" I spun around to see Dally along with Ponyboy and Johnny. "What's your big plan?"

"We're gonna—"

His next words made me wonder how simple-minded he really was.

* * *

**Author Notes: **W00t. Cliff hanger. XD You can find out what it is in the next chapter! And I'm so sorry that it took me so damn long to get this next chapter up. I'm really busy, and I have a whole load of stuff that I need to update. x x; 

Now, review please!


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